Four Hands Piece
by Nienna
Summary: Post Private Lives 6x14 . House makes the last discovery he needs to stop using his feelings for Chase as joking material. HouseChase, oneshot.


English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes in grammar and such, I'd really appreciate if you can point them out to me so I can fix them and learn in the process (: Thanks to **Rionarch** who did an amazing job as the beta of this!

* * *

"What was that exactly?" Wilson asked in an amused tone when they arrived home after speed-dating.

House limped his way to his bedroom, as if he hadn't listened. He was in a good mood, but it could never be good enough to discuss that without some coaxing out.

"Was that _flirting_? It seemed that way," inexhaustibly, Wilson followed him and blocked the door House wanted to pass through before he could.  
"Is that jealousy I detect?" House deflected, smirking playfully, "you know you'll always be my favorite, Jimmy."  
"Oh, God," stuttering, the oncologist came to a realization by his own, "i-it was! You were serious! You made it seem like a joke, as you usually do when you care too much, but you were serious!"  
"I'm not going with you to that speed-dating shit again" House declared ending the conversation, slamming the door he managed to reach by pushing Wilson to the side.  
"You don't need to. You can't date Chase if you go."

He turned off his friend's voice, which sounded so enthusiastic as if he was still out in the living room with him. Good thing the apartment was so damn big and comfortable, otherwise he'd ran that very moment back to his place—oh, well, that wasn't possible since it wasn't his place anymore, but he was pretty sure there were a lot of places he could run to in order to be alone. The only bad thing with that was the non-temporary state of loneliness he'd get.

Wilson was a great company, even though he was as annoying as hell sometimes. Like at that very moment, for example.

Sitting on the side of his bed, supporting both hands on his cane, he tried to come up with something to make Wilson forget about the whole thing. But it was kind of impossible to say the least. He could still hear some babbling outside his room in which all he could comprehend was one word.

Chase.

_"Wilson, you overreacting idiot_," he cursed, feeling the beginnings of anger built inside of him, "_I've said a bunch of times how pretty Chase is! Besides, it isn't relevant. It isn't just what I think, it's the truth. You said it too, damn it."_

He might be getting a bit defensive. Rather, he had already, the second he understood what his best friend was asking. With a bit of luck, Wilson would disregard it by himself in a few days, when he saw he was getting nowhere with his crazy theory.

Of course he didn't like Chase. And even if he did, hypothetically speaking, he would never be able to be with him. He couldn't open to anyone anymore, he had no courage left.

"House, I know you're there," staring at the ceiling, the diagnostician resigned to listen to the closing words of his friend's monologue, "Just remember you're human too. You can deny yourself love and whatever you think you don't deserve, but not forever and not without consequences. Good night."

It turned out to be a bad idea.

He couldn't sleep a wink that night.

_"At least he didn't say that I've changed and all that crap", _House internally praised, "_points for you, Wilson, 'cause I'm all the same, Vicodin-free."_

_

* * *

So date men.  
_  
Why was he even thinking about it? It was clearly a joke. Coming from a bisexual person though, it was kind of hard taking it as one.

Shaking his head, he tried to resume reading the never ending entries of their patient's online journal. He'd better focus on the case, or House was capable of firing him again. The mere memory made a sad smile crept into his fair face.

_ "There's been only one man I've been attracted to,"_ Chase thought, sourness mixed with acceptance, _"It was never reciprocal… and it will never be."_

* * *

"Hello, gorgeous," House greeted him. Chase suppressed the urge to tell him to stop verbally harassing him.

He supposed it was nothing new. He'd just become unaccustomed to it.

Thankfully, they were alone. It was rather early for House to be in the office, actually.

"Morning," he said, taking another mug from the cupboard, "Want some coffee?".  
"Sure, pretty," with smugness all over his tone House added, "How did you know I was talking to you?"  
"There's no one else in here, House."  
"But if it was, you'd know it anyway."

Handing him the coffee he'd just made, the blonde refused to amuse his boss until the rest of his colleagues arrived. He chose to quietly sit in his usual place, waiting for House to get bored and leave.

"You're no fun at all," the older doctor stated, way far from sounding uninterested, "But, _Goḑ_ you're a pleasure to look at."

Sipping from his own cup, Chase thought that House had some acting skills going for him in addition to his genius and striking blue eyes, because he sure knew how to leer at someone for whom he felt nothing but desire to mock him.

Then he repeated the last two things his mind added and resisted yet another urge. This time, the urge of hitting his head against the desk the hardest that he could.

* * *

"Do you like pepperoni?" House asked rhetorically, enjoying Chase's stunned expression when he saw him standing there with food, "well, who cares. Wilson doesn't, so you're gonna eat it."

"Come in," Chase opened the door for him still looking puzzled.

What on earth was doing House in his place? They've just saw each other during the day and the man had acted normal. Well, except for the sneaky glares he gave at him, which weren't exactly unusual since they'd been happening at least for a week.

He took some napkins and two beers from the kitchen while his visitor got comfy on his couch, trying to not over rationalize what was going on. It was obvious that House was there for a reason he couldn't grasp.

"Did Cameron get the dishes in the divorce too?" the diagnostician asked mockingly, accepting a slice of pizza on a napkin and a bottle of beer.  
Rolling his eyes Chase replied, "They were a present from her grandmother."  
"Yeah, tradition, I get it. Still, you know they sell other dishes in stores out there, don't you?"  
"Really? Thought they'd ran out, silly me."

Taking a bite, House interpreted the tacit I'm-not-home-enough-to-care from the younger doctor at the same time Chase relaxed a bit and decided having his boss as a visit couldn't be that bad. He would eventually leave.

"Seriously, why did you cut it?" House broke the silence between them, after taking a long sip from his beer, "you never told me."  
"What's so special about getting a hair cut? You cut it too, I never asked."  
"Dumb. Mine isn't pretty, yours is, that's what so special about it."

_ Pretty_. Again with the same goddamned word. The blonde tried to swallow the pizza that had suddenly decided it would stick right in the middle of his throat.

"Or was, for that matter," giving him a mock-saddened face House went further, "At least hair grows."  
"I felt like going for a change, a change that I could control" the intensivist answered, wearily, "why did you cut yours?"  
"I didn't choose to do it you know, that kind of happens when you're in a mental clinic. People ruling out your free will and all that."  
"It wasn't a boot camp and your hair was short enough, House."  
"Well, you're right, it wasn't a boot camp. It was a hell worse than one."  
"With you there, I've no doubts," pausing for an instant, trying to read something in those bright blue eyes and failing he added, "You wanna talk about it or just thought our conversation needed a dramatic turn?"  
"Oh, you caught me. Did it work?"  
"Not really."  
"Damn. Should have added it tears."

* * *

It certainly wasn't the smartest idea to let his guard down with his boss right inside of the only place that kept in his identity, that contained the features he hadn't shared with anyone in years, not even with Cameron. Not because he hadn't tried, he had to admit. His ex-wife was simply not interested in all sides of him and that thought made easier to let her go.

Stumbling to his bedroom after suddenly waking up alone on the couch, he searched there first. The world spun around him as he had got up too quickly and was still half asleep. He hadn't realized just how tired he was.

"Did you drug me?" Chase asked entering to his studio, drowsiness thickening his accent.  
"Why would I ever do such a thing?" came the singsong response along with some random notes.

The blonde took a deep breath, keeping himself still by clinging to the door frame. Anger was quickly creeping into him, making his vision blurrier. The sight of House playing his piano in the one room where he felt he had nothing to prove to anyone, not even to himself, wasn't helping. The realization of what the older man had pulled off brought a strong feeling of humiliation to him, almost as if he had been violated to some extent.

"It is a fair instrument, sounds really nice although its tacky appearance," House complimented in the only way he knew. Making fun of it, that was, "Why buy a white piano?"  
"Why would I answer that? You wouldn't listen," definitely noticing his rising fury, his bad-mannered guest moved on the piano bench, leaving a space for him, "If you wanted to take a look I'd appreciate it if you asked."  
"Oh, come on. Asking is _boring_, don't make such a fuss about it," grabbing the music sheets placed on the instrument, he changed the subject, "These are quite something. Where did you get the sheets?"  
"Nowhere," came the steamed reply, "I wrote them."

Casting a glance at the vacant spot by House's side, the blonde pushed his rage as far as he could. He knew better than to ignore that gesture. He sat, letting his eyelids hide the reservation reflected in his eyes. His numb fingers touched the keys, promptly recovering from the substance their owner had ingested against his will and starting a quiet, somewhat tearing piece. His right arm brushed House's left while he played and he tried to hush his surprise as the man didn't move an inch away from the contact.

All the scores he composed didn't last more than four or five minutes and almost at the end of the one he was playing, House's hands joined in, softly accompanying the main melody. He stretched it, enjoying every note the older man was adding and the sensation of intimacy he never thought he would get with him. Somehow, playing a four hands piece with House was far more special than chatting, than anything he could ask him about his life with the hypothetical reasoning that he would get an answer. He held his eyes closed, aware that any slight movement could wake House from the daze he seemed to be in.

But it happened anyway.

Without a word, House grabbed the music sheets and began a hasty limping to the door. Chase heard everything with so many details that he wondered just what kind of drug the man had given him. The paper being crumpled, the cane popping on the floor along with every step the doctor took and his altered breathing as he exited. He had clearly realized what he was doing and freaked out.

Chase didn't blame him. He was about to go into a similar panic, but decided to focus on writing the notes House had improvised instead.

* * *

"It's very moving," Wilson commented, fixing his tie a few steps away from where House had placed his piano in the new apartment in a corner of the living room, "Almost sounds like you have a soul in there somewhere, actually."  
"So kind of you, Wilson," Taking his loot possessively against his chest before starting to humble to his bedroom, House informed, "I didn't write it, though. I'm afraid you're losing your touch."  
"But it isn't something you've played before either," blinking, his friend caught him, frowning, "Where did you get it?"  
"I stole it from somewhere. It's very nice, isn't it?"  
"You _what_? House!"

* * *

Chase rubbed his eyes, the letters of their patient's history stubbornly kept dancing in front of him. Sighing, he closed the folder and got up, deciding he would crash in any empty exam room at least for a couple of hours. He had been awake for three days in a row, the first night with no particular reason other than brooding about his non-existent personal life, the second night in the Surgery department assisting in a very complex brain operation. The head surgeon had let him lead for a couple of hours and congratulated him afterwards, saying it was such a pity for him to be working in Diagnostics. He idiotically had stated he could do both and was called to perform another super long surgery the next night. In the following morning he had called Cuddy to ask for a day off, only to be woken up half an hour later by a pissed-off House who wanted his full staff working in the new case.

And there he was, completely by himself. Taub, Foreman and Thirteen had gone a while ago. He had to stay to run some tests and monitor their patient during night, because he was really unstable. Although he knew he was mainly staying as a punishment for putting his work in other department before Diagnostics.

It was 3 a.m., he could perfectly sleep until 6 without House knowing. If he did find out, though, it was very likely he was getting more punishment. Or another firing. You could never know with House. Considering the possibility, he remained in his chair, struggling against his need to rest that was starting to become involuntary. Soon, he knew, he wouldn't be able to control it or even sense he was falling asleep.

* * *

"I'm not allowing you endanger our patient's life by making Chase do most of the work just because you're mad at him, House. I'm going to let Cuddy know," Foreman sentenced that morning, crossing his arms while he stared at the intensivist who was barely making sense of what was being said around him. He was way more relaxed than he should, since he was able to stabilize the man some time near dawn.

"Sure, go. Tell mummy about it. I'm so worried I'll eat my nails away."  
"He seems very much out of everything, but he did a good job," Taub opined, giving Chase a pity look, "Patient is stable now."  
"Let him go to sleep, House. He earned it," putting a hand on one of the younger doctor's shoulders, Thirteen added, "Chase, do you need a ride home?"  
"No, thanks," retreating from the contact a bit too much faster than what could be considered normal, the blonde eyed his boss, waiting for any type of sign that would confirm he was allowed to go.  
"I want your iPod," House ordered, stretching a hand in front of him. Confused, Chase retrieved his bag from the back of the chair, looked for said object inside of it and gave it to the man before heading to the door and left.

Searching through the music in the device in the privacy of his office later, House grinned as he found what he was looking for and pressed play, leaning against the back of his seat.

He knew there had to be something recorded too. He wanted to hear every piece played by its author but wasn't going to ask for it to happen live. It wasn't his thing, Chase had to understand.

Maybe the most scaring part was that he knew Chase would.

* * *

House watched as his younger employee slept. He maintained his weight on the wall behind his back, twirling his cane constantly in his hands. Anybody who saw him would have held no doubts about him being in the cheerleader club in college, not considering it a lie for an instant.

Stopping, he settled on the bed by Chase's side. He hated fidgeting. However, he'd been at it at least for an hour.

He couldn't concentrate on the case. They were losing the patient. The man had coded twice since the blonde left the hospital, even though only six hours had passed. His pager would have been an issue, but he had wisely hidden it along with the blonde's before it rang.

He just couldn't get it. Why Chase insisted on working for him, on being verbally and sometimes physically tortured, when he had a lot of other opportunities inside and outside the hospital? He was the only one he had fired and at the same time, the only one that stayed because he wanted to, not because he had nowhere else to go or because there wasn't any other appealing jobs for him at the moment.

Why? He wouldn't ask. He was determined to discover it somehow though. He had a hunch about the answer being far more complicated that he could manage, but he hated cowardice as well. It was worth a try.

Every woman he had tried to approach after Stacy had another person in her life already. Cuddy, Lydia. Maybe it was time to test his luck in the other department, with the only man he'd been interested in. He could always withdraw feigning it was a joke, after all. It was one of the pros of acting like a nut job 99 percent of the time.

Besides, he finally understood Wilson's words… or got him completely wrong. He'd find out later.

Tossing the sheets he had been keeping in his jacket on Chase's face, he waited for the young man to wake and was delighted to see how he immediately jerked, taking the papers in one hand as he wiped his face with the other.

"How did you get in?" Chase asked evenly.

He was either still asleep or totally resigned to follow his will. House pondered which one was more likely.

"I've got keys. That's what they're made for, you know, to enter to places."  
"Right," pausing with no visible reaction, he took a look at the music sheets, realizing they weren't his. A four hands piece was scribbled on them, "Are we making some kind of exchange?"

The blonde was being wary, the diagnostician deducted. He didn't blame him, since he could say at any minute it was all a charade. Acting like a nut job had his cons too, one of them was that people around you always thought you were pulling their legs.

"Bass clef's mine. Come on."

Turning and starting to walk before Chase could mutter another question, the diagnostician approached the room where the white piano rested. He sat on the bench just where the blonde had been the last time and sardonically tapped the spot beside him.

Scanning the sheet for a moment pausing by the door, Chase entered and filled the empty space. He really hoped it wasn't some kind of test, because he was still exhausted and was beginning to freeze for not putting socks or shoes on his feet. He at least could allow himself to fidget with his toes. House couldn't see them anyway.

"Whenever you're ready, pumpkin."

Nodding, smiling tiredly at the endearment, the blonde resolved to do his best. If House scheme involved playing the piano together, he might as well enjoy it. With his boss, winning the lottery was always more likely that getting close to him either psychically or mentally. And this was a perfect mixture of both.

He started off with some high, soft notes. The tenderness in them amazed him as well it did the rough, low notes that House played in a somewhat bizarre but right tempo with his. They appeared to be playing totally different things, just vaguely matching up a note here or there. Then the whole piece took off, the speed increasing as they coincided more and more. At some point, Chase heard his fingers mimicking the disturbed melody that the older doctor had interpreted first, only in a higher tone. He made an effort to keep pace with it. He'd have to stretch quite a bit to reach the notes that were written next in his clefs. The score wasn't right, the logical part of his brain told him. And technically, it wasn't. House would've to play those, not him. Why would he commit a mistake that blunt?

With a gasp, Chase realized there was no mistake.

The verbal harassment, the looks, the jokes, the visits all pointed to one simple conclusion. And those notes so out of place meant at least one thing. He'd have to touch House's hands, to reach to him. He had no time for hesitating.

And he did, not missing a single note. Little by little, the harmony with which he had begun the piece came back, almost as if he was the one injecting it in the lower notes. House's fingers brushed past his, almost backing up a bit just to return and entwine with his for the slightest of moments.

As House's hand lifted to pass to the next page for the last time, the blonde froze and stopped playing. Suddenly, there were no longer skillful fingers on the instrument, there was no music in the air, there was no other vision for him than House's blue eyes only an inch from him.

With his hand firmly grabbing Chase's chin, House stayed still. He had pulled the blonde closer to him and that was the final act. Crossing the line depended on his youngest employee. If nothing happened, he'd just leave. If something did happen… well, possibly he'd leave anyway.

Barely touching his lips with his own, Chase thought that if it was a prank after all, he'd made up something to explain his behavior later. There was no way in hell he was missing the chance of kissing House.

And he did, gently at first and escalating gradually as he convinced himself the older doctor wasn't going to push him away. When House finally started to correspond, the blonde held slightly to one of his shoulders, wanting to give him time to adjust to their proximity.

As they broke contact, House's hand freeing his chin, Chase cast a glance on the sheet and promptly organized the pages in their original order. He remembered seeing a title and there it was. Prelude.

"Don't know if there's going to be an act after," House announced, voice still.  
"It's okay," Chase answered with the brightest smile his boss had ever seen, "I'll stick around, just in case. Besides, we haven't finished this yet."

Leaning to the blonde, catching his mouth once again, House thought that just maybe, things were going to be a bit less complicated that he'd pictured.

Perhaps, he'd finally have a relationship where no one was going to ask for more than he could give.


End file.
